


Quarantine

by TheGooseBot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Breeding, Bribery, Canon Divergence, Egg Laying, Interspecies Sex, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Odors, Oneshot, Oral Sex, Other, Oviposition, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slight Cum Inflation, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Valve Oral (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23014573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGooseBot/pseuds/TheGooseBot
Summary: Misfire gets himself into quite the predicament thanks to his soft-spot for animals in distress.
Relationships: Bob/Misfire
Comments: 16
Kudos: 131





	Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone up for Pre-Scavengers Misfire shenanigans?  
> \- - -  
> This fic is the result of allowing my friends/followers to choose Character A, B, and the content rating via polls on my twitter account.  
> It may also be the fic that destroys whatever respect people have towards me :A LOL  
> \- - -  
>  **PLEASE HEED THE TAGS.** If this is **NOT** your cup of tea, then don't drink it!  
> (Also, read the notes at the end. Thank you!)

_ Tap, tap, tap _

Misfire rocked back and forth in his chair, its feet clicking against the cold tile floor of the debriefing room. With snacks and personal devices prohibited, his mind had already tuned out whatever the scrap Thrust was telling him and instead began to consider what the mess-hall might be serving for lunch today.

_ Tap, tap tap _

Misfire loved a good slide-show. But the one Thrust was showing him was boring and lame. It  _ had _ to be about something important, what with the screen showing off building blueprints and other schematics. And Thrust was using  _ so many words  _ to describe everything. The Autobot symbol popped up here and there, but that only made Misfire wonder if the enemy faction had a better cafeteria than theirs. 

"Is that understood, Misfire?" Thrust asked, finally directing his attention towards his jaded underling.

_ Tap, tap, tap _

" _ Misfire _ ?" 

_ Tap, tap, tap _

"MISFIRE!" Thrust barked, striking the side of the monitor with the pointer he had been using throughout his presentation.

"Huh? What?" Misfire stopped rocking, "Are we off to lunch then?" 

Thrust growled, "Misfire, have you been listening to a word I've said?!" When the rookie flyer replied with a lost look on his face, it took all of Thrust's will-power not to strangle him, "This is a  _ serious _ mission! With all our other squadrons distracting the Autobots,  _ you're _ the only scout available to infiltrate their outpost!"

" _ Me _ ?" Misfire pointed at himself, "Why aren't they sending  _ you _ ?"

"Because,  _ Misfire,  _ this mission requires  _ stealth _ . And nobody seems to know stealth better than the one who  _ constantly raids the Energon-storage vault!"  _

Misfire nodded, bridging his fingers together as he leaned back in his seat, "Fair point..."

Thrust's energon boiled, the pointer bending in-between his servos, threatening to break in half had he not remembered his intake exercises. How a do-nothing like Misfire landed himself among the ranks of the Decepticon army was beyond him. Yet, here he was. And, unfortunately, it was Thrust's duty to debrief him, no matter how infuriating it was.

"Let's try this again," Thrust sighed, "Your mission is simple: you are to infiltrate Autobot outpost #69..."

"Nice."

"... you are to use  _ this _ data-slug to download whatever intel you can find regarding their Energon-caches..." 

"Mmhm, slugs, got it."

"... and then return to base  _ immediately _ ." Thrust tossed the data-slug at Misfire, who failed to catch it and fell backward out of his chair. 

"That sounds easy enough!" the younger flyer grinned, crawling across the floor to retrieve the data-slug. "Why didn't you say  _ that _ in the first place? You could've saved us a lotta time, y'know!"

Thrust snarled, looming over Misfire almost menacingly, and pulled out a sleek rectangle from his sub-space, shoving it in front of the other flyer's face. 

"This card-key was designed by Shockwave to scramble the locks on the doors and grant you access into any room." Thrust informed, "Do  ** NOT ** lose it. Are we clear, soldier?"

Misfire shrugged, "Yeah, I think I can manage." The flyer dusted himself, shot a couple of finger-guns at Thrust, and gave him his most reassuring wink. "Consider this mission accomplished! Wham, bam, in the van!"

Once Misfire left the debriefing room, Thrust walked over to the closest wall, and quietly rapped his head against it.   
  


* * *

  
The first thing Misfire raided was the Autobot's mess hall. The flyer was incredibly disappointed once he discovered the kitchen's stock-room carried the same types of snacks and fuel as their galley.

But that didn't stop him from stuffing as many rust-stix into his sub-space as possible, unaware that the data-slug Thrust entrusted him with fell out in the process, unknowingly abandoned. 

Misfire  _ supposed _ it was time to start taking his assignment seriously. He cracked open a can of engex he swiped from the pantry, chugged it, and then proceeded to crush the empty container against his head. Or at least try to. He tossed it aside, brooding.

"Man, the Wreckers make it look so  _ easy _ ," Misfire muttered to himself, "And they use  _ oil drums! _ "

With the engex surging through him, the flyer grew more and more distracted. He carelessly slapped Shockwave's card-key against the door locks and only spared the inside of each room a glance before moving onto the next. Honestly, he had no idea what he was trying to find - something for his data-slug to download information? Something like what? A computer? There were computers in almost every room!

Misfire yawned. After a brief stretch, he decided to break into one of his boxes of rust-stix. A trail of crumbs soon followed after Misfire, who was already contemplating telling Thrust he couldn't find anything interesting. 

"So much for a stealth mission...," Misfire grumbled, crumpling an empty box of rust-stix, tossing it over his shoulder. "There isn't even a reason to be stealthy! Nobody's here!" he started his second box of stix. 

Suddenly, there came a noise from a few corridors away. Misfire nearly choked on the rust-stix in his mouth once he realized he wasn't alone anymore. He could make out the sound of footsteps, the soft echos growing more defined as they drew nearer. 

The Decepticon's flight-or-fight protocols stalled. He nearly ate his blaster while pointing his box of rust-stix, ready for a fight. 

It seemed fighting wasn't going to be the right answer: it was time to hide. Misfire scrambled for the closest door, striking his card-key against the lock so hard that it broke in half. The flyer gasped as if it pained him, but there was no time to worry about that. The door before him hissed open, revealing a dark, musty room. 

With no time to spare, Misfire leaped inside and quickly closed the door behind him, unaware of the sign that swayed from side-to-side, it's big, black letters read ' ** QUARANTINE: KEEP OUT! ** ' 

Misfire pressed his audial to the door and listened carefully. The footsteps passed him by, and he could make out a pair of voices complaining about their teammates' poor manners, what with leaving litter all over the corridors. Then, the hallway fell silent. 

"Phew!" Misfire wiped his brow in relief. His nose wrinkled as he took notice of the strange, musky scent that hung in the air. The headiness was almost familiar to him. Getting past the initial heaviness, he didn't mind it at all. 

What  _ did _ bother Misfire was how dark it was; he couldn't even make out his hand in front of his face. He relied on the small sliver of light coming from under the door to aid his optics as they searched for a light switch. He patted down the walls until his servo recognized a knob. He turned it slowly, and the lightbulbs that hung overhead gradually brightened. 

The room was big and littered with piles of pillows and thermo-blankets; the floor was crowded and messy with them. Misfire assumed this had to be a neglected storage room.

The Decepticon explored the mounds, some bigger than others, some smellier and dingier looking. When Misfire deemed nothing else exciting about the cushions that packed the room, he began looking for a way out. With no windows, Misfire scanned the walls for a vent. 

Not looking where he was walking, Misfire stepped on  _ something _ hard. Whatever it was, there came a yelp, which startled the Decepticon. He dove into a cushion pile, the heady scent was overwhelming Misfire, who poked his head out, trying to cycle fresh air into his intake. 

What Misfire saw across from him was the last thing he was expecting. An Insecticon emerged from one of the heaps. The poor runt appeared uncomfortable and scared. It examined its foot, petting it tenderly with its pseudo-hands. 

Misfire frowned, realizing he had hurt him. While he knew he should've been trying to comprehend  _ why _ the Autobots were keeping an Insecticon, the flyer slowly came out of hiding so that he wouldn't frighten the poor thing further. 

"Hey there, Lil' fella!" Misfire smiled apologetically. "I didn't see you there!" 

The Insecticon stood his ground, tense and wary of Misfire. He had never met this mech before, the flyer's smell was unfamiliar to him. 

"Aw, don't be afraid!" Misfire crouched down, "Here! You want one of these bad boys?" He reached into his sub-space and offered the creature one of his rust-stix. "They're  _ really _ good!"

The Insecticon sniffed the treat, feelers twitching. Surely anyone offering snacks could be trusted, right? 

Misfire's gentle smile grew wider as the Insecticon tentatively accepted his offering, "Y'see? It's good, right? And I'm good too! I'm Misfire! And you are...?"

The Insecticon chirped as it ate another rust-stix from his hand. 

" _ Chrp _ ?" Misfire repeated. 

" _ Chhrrp _ !"

" _ Chhrrp _ ??" 

The Insecticon nodded as it ate the third rust-stix given to him. Misfire wasn't sure what he was expecting. It wasn't like Insecticons could speak. But hey, if talking to the creature made him appear less threatening, then so be it. 

"What are you doing here all by yourself?" Misfire asked, "Shouldn't you be in a hive or something?" 

The Insecticon clicked and chittered at Misfire, answering his question. Unfortunately for the flyer, he couldn't understand a word of it. But he politely nodded, as if he did.

"That's rough, buddy." Misfire sat down and dumped the rest of his rust-stix into a pile for the Insecticon to have. "I was a prisoner once, but my squad busted me out." An idea popped into the flyer's head, "Hey! I could get you out of here! Would you like that? You wanna come with me?"

The Insecticon tilted his head, then took a step away from Misfire. He proceeded to 'talk,' making all sorts of sounds that made no sense to the Decepticon. 

Judging by the way the Insecticon shuffled about the cushions, Misfire tried deciphering what was said to him, "You... don't want to leave?" 

The Insecticon nodded, chittering happily. 

"You like it here?"

The Insecticon nodded again. 

"Hey, hold on a sec," Misfire squinted, "Are you someone's  _ pet _ ?"

The Insecticon wiggled delightfully. It then dawned on Misfire who this was. He never personally encountered Sunstreaker, but he heard from his crewmates that the Autobot owned an Insecticon named-

"Bob! You're Bob, aren't you?!" Misfire pointed at him, stunned. 

Bob danced happily, excited that his new friend called him by his name. Before Misfire could stand back up, Bob had crawled close enough to rest his head in the flyer's lap; purring and beeping softly, insisting Misfire to pet him. 

With no other choice, Misfire did so. As he caressed the base of Bob's feelers, he still couldn't believe this was Sunstreaker's pet Insecticon, nor could he figure out why the Autobot kept Bob in such a stinky place, but what troubled him more was whether or not Bob would rat him out to the Autobots. 

"Okay, Bob," Misfire began, "I'm going to be real with ya." 

" _ Chr _ ?"

"I know we just met, but I'd like to consider us friends, right?"

" _Chr, chr!_ " 

"But I'm a Decepticon," Misfire gestured toward himself, "And you're friends with the  _ Autobots _ , and they're not cool with me."

" _ Chhhr _ ...?" Bob bumped his head against Misfire's servo, encouraging the flyer to resume petting him. 

"So, how about this! If you help me out, I'll help you!" Misfire smiled, "How does that sound?" he stroked the top of Bob's head, hoping to have won over Sunsteaker's pet. 

" _ Chr! Chrr, chrr! Chrr _ !!" Bob bounced, nodding in approval to Misfire's deal. 

Misfire ruffled Bob's plating, "Great! Now, all I need you to do is not tell Sunstreaker I was here, got it?" 

Bob waggled his feelers, which Misfire took as a 'yes,' "Good! Now, what would you like me to help you with?" He glanced around the room, "I'm not that great at cleaning, but I could try tidying your place up? How's that sound?"

Then, there came a soft hiss. For a second, Misfire thought it was the door opening up, but when he noticed the lock remained undisturbed, he turned back towards Bob. 

And that was when he noticed the Insecticon's cable; if one could call it such a thing. 

"Wow, that's a...  _ wow...,"  _ Misfire gulped, his eyes glued to the appendage.

It wasn't so much the strange shape that impressed the flyer as much as it was its size. It was big.  _ Huge.  _ Could something like that even fit within the Con's valve? Misfire would've been lying if he said he wasn't interested, but scrap! Was he about to let an Insecticon frag him?!

"Um, hey, listen, Bob," Misfire tried to maintain eye-contact with the hopeful creature, "I've done some freaky, questionable things in the past. But, when I said I'd help you out, I didn't mean-," it was then that it dawned on Misfire, "-Oh. Oh, Primus, you're  _ in heat _ , aren't you?" 

Bob lowered his head and shifted uncomfortably. 

Now everything made sense: the musky scent of the room, Bob's friendliness, the cushions, and blankets to help make him comfortable while the Autobots waited for the Insecticon's cycle to end. 

Misfire considered his options. What did he have to lose from allowing an Insecticon to bang him? His dignity? Eh, he lost that a long time ago. His reputation? The Con was already known for his weird and uncouth habits. 

Misfire's wings twitched. He couldn't believe what he was about to do. 

Bob perked up from his pouting, his yellow eyes following after Misfire, who settled down against one of the more appealing cushion piles and cracked his legs apart ever so slightly. 

"So, um,  _ remember _ : don't snitch to Sunsteaker that I was here and  **_ definitely _ ** don't tell him we did this, okay?" Misfire reminded Bob of their agreement before he slid back his modesty-panel.

Bob blinked, his antennas flicking forward. The Insecticon sniffed the air, catching a whiff of Misfire's valve. The creature slowly approached the mech, who was offering himself up so timidly. He stuck his head, in-between Misfire's legs, snuffling inquisitively. 

Misfire squeaked. Bob's pseudo-hands gently pushed Misfire's thighs open further, allowing him to get closer.

"H-Here, let me just...," Misfire reached over for one of the blankets and covered the lower half of his body (and Bob's head) with it, "... give you some privacy..." 

Bob didn't quite understand the point of being hidden by the stretch of fabric, but it didn't bother him in the slightest. Misfire waited nervously for the Insecticon to make contact with him; his spark was quivering much like his legs. 

Then, Misfire felt it. He couldn't be sure if Bob had a tongue, but whatever it was, it was  _ wet. _ And it was  _ hot. _ And it was  _ weird.  _

_ And he liked it.  _

Bob gave another experimental lick, tasting the outer-folds of Misfire's valve, where the faintest traces of lubricant enticed the Insecticon to sample the Decepticon again. 

"O-Oh!" Misfire bit his lip as he watched Bob's head move underneath the blanket, "Oh,  _ sc-scrap _ ..." A thrill crawled over the flyer as Bob's tongue rolled over his anterior node. There was something about  _ not _ seeing what Bob was doing to him that heightened the pleasure he felt.

Then, Bob began lapping gently at the valve, working the rim and the folds, granting Misfire a better feel of his tongue. It wasn't rough, but it wasn't soft either. There was an increase in saliva from Bob, which made the slick sounds even more erotic. It mingled with Misfire's lubricant, which was sweet and tangy, twice as delectable as the rust-stix the flyer had fed him. 

"...  _ hahh... ngh... Primus! _ " Misfire helm dipped back against the pillows, whimpering in ecstasy. Bob quickened his pace out of excitement, the tongue swirled, and finally, much to Misfire's delight, wormed its way inside. 

" _ NNNH~! Frag, frag, frag-!! _ " Misfire cursed as the strange appendage stirred deep within him, reaching nooks and crannies that rarely received attention. The flyer rocked brazenly against the Insecticon's mouth, reaching under the covers to toy with his anterior node, crooning as pleasure zapped through him. 

Bob's hunger for Misfire's valve became ravenous. He plunged his tongue over and over, drawing the warm lubricant up into his mouth until Misfire finally overloaded. With Bob still keeping his thighs spread, Misfire shook and cried out in euphoria. A fresh, hot gush of lubricant met Bob's mouth, rewarding the Insection graciously. 

" _ Ah... nnh.. uff... sc-scrap... B-bob...,"  _ Misfire whined, coolant welling up in his optics. His valve continued to pulse and throb, even after Bob pulled his head out from under the blanket, lubricant dripping from his mandibles. 

Bob took a moment to clean himself off, which was okay with Misfire, who was still reeling from that processor-blowing overload. He laid there, dazed and surprised with himself that he let Bob eat him out. Primus, what was  _ wrong _ with him?

Misfire's chassis heaved. The room was stuffy, and therefore it was difficult to cool his frame off with clean air. It also didn't help that Bob's weird set of servos was already maneuvering Misfire onto his front. The flyer allowed him, boneless and spent against the cushions. 

" _ Uff.... Bob... that was... frag..."  _ Misfire tried looking over his shoulder to get a better look at what Bob was doing back there. 

The Insection mounted him, fervently clicking and chirping as he pulled Misfire closer. There was a moment of clarity for the Decepticon scout as he felt the foreign, hard member of the other creature rutting against the swollen petals of his valve.

"B-Bob," Misfire gripped the pillows nervously, "Bob, p-please be gentle with me, I've never really done this before, and Primus have mercy on my spark, this is all so new to me, and I don't even know if that'll _fit_ \--"

Bob maintained his pace, slicking his member while Misfire carried on beneath him. When the head of Bob's length caught the flyer's entrance, he hunkered down and held Misfire close against his heated frame. 

It comforted Misfire. He leaned into the embrace and shut his optics, bracing himself for the initial spread. 

Steadily, Bob began to push himself inside, his whole body vibrating. The tremors traveled through Misfire's frame, who moaned from the sensation and the pressure building up within his oversensitized valve as Bob continued to sink his spike deeper inside. 

The unusual shape of the length - the bumps, the notches, and the ridges - all pushed and pulled at the walls Misfire's valve, causing the flyer to mewl. With only half of Bob's spike inside, Misfire's rim fought to accommodate the rest and stretched to its limits. 

" _ Bob! B-Bob, please, please, please, just  _ **_ do it _ ** _ already! Bob, please just  _ **_ MOVE _ ** _ \--!! _ " begged Misfire, grabbing a fist full of blankets.

Misfire wasn't sure what he should've expected. Bob was an animal following his instincts.  _ Why _ Misfire thought Bob would start things slow and steady was beyond him. 

Bob didn't just start thrusting into Misfire. He  _ pistoned  _ into the flyer, who stifled his caterwaul of wild bliss into an old pillow. Instantly, the Decepticon overloaded with a cry that bled into static, stars bursting across his field of vision, leaving him disoriented and overheated. 

But Bob kept his erratic pace. He squealed, ecstatic that he had a port he could frag. And Misfire's valve was  _ perfect _ : it  _ squeezed _ and  _ clenched _ , and it was so  _ tight  _ and so  _ smooth _ . Bob curled over the flyer, bucking madly - his pace never wavering as he jabbed relentlessly against the back of Misfire's valve until something deep within him  _ clicked _ open.

Bob had accessed Misfire's gestation chamber. 

Misfire was an incoherent, babbling, drooling mess. There wasn't anything he could do but let Bob have his way with him. He lost count how many times he overloaded, but he felt full: what with his lubricant unable to push past Bob's member, which formed the slightest bulge within his abdomen. 

Misfire wasn't sure how much more he could take: his vocalizer nearly blew out, his valve was burning, sensor nodes raw from pleasure, and he was starting to feel nauseous. He whimpered as Bob nuzzled the back of Misfire's head, then he bit down on the nape of the flyer's neck, and overloaded.

Bob's member was already prominent, but it swelled in size while as he emptied a copious amount of thick, hot fluids into Misfire. The ridges that lined the sides of the Insecticon's length flared out, barbing the soft, pulsating walls of Misfire's valve. The base of Bob's appendage doubled in size, too; the knot sat inside the rim of Misfire's port, preventing their fluids from escaping. The bulge within the Decepticon's abdomen became more pronounced, and Misfire gave a feeble groan as he felt the dermal plating stretch. 

With Bob's spike hilted, Misfire could've sworn he died. Knowing the Insecticon had breached his gestation chamber made him dizzy. Bob didn't move. He remained unmoving even though Misfire wanted the creature  _ off _ of him. 

" _ B... B-Bob? _ ...," Misfire wheezed, "...  _ Wh _ ... what're you -  _ mngh _ \- d-doin' up there, Pal?"

Bob's member  _ throbbed _ as its head shifted and changed form. Bob hummed lowly; his stomach churned and undulated against Misfire's back. 

"B-Bob? Bob, w-wait-  _ wait _ ! What're you doing-?!" Misfire panicked as Bob pinned the flyer against the pillow pile. The Insecticon's spike forced Misfire's calipers to their limits. Something moved through Bob's member and glided across the fried sensor nodes, eliciting a moan from the flyer. 

Whatever came out of Bob's member was heavy, like an exercise weight, or a cannonball. It settled down within the depths of Misfire's gestation tank. The poor Decepticon had no idea what Bob was doing to him, only that whatever it was, it kept happening. One by one, these dense objects moved down the length of Bob's spike, nudging against the rippling walls of Misfire's valve, and gathered together inside his tank. 

Misfire could no longer speak: the only sounds that left him were submissive mewls and raspy whines. He waited for Bob to finish, optics rolling back into his head as the last object snuggled itself among the rest of its duplicates. 

But even then, Bob didn't pull out. The Insecticon laid himself against the exhausted Misfire. He groomed the flyer, lovingly. As he cleaned away the beads of condensation from his mate's frame, Misfire weakly brought a servo up to feel the lumpy bulge that pushed his abdominal plating out of place. He pressed his fingers against it, alarmed at how stiff the bump was. 

As Bob stroked and nuzzled Misfire's frame, his HUD flashed one warning after another: low energon and coolant levels, core-temperature bordering critical. Misfire reminded himself never to let this happen again, just before passing out. 

* * *

:: Keep your eyes peeled, solider,:: Fort Max's hard voice crackled over Sunstreaker's commlink. :: It doesn't look like anything was damaged aside from the kitchen, but there's a strong possibility that the Decepticon is still somewhere within the base. ::

:: Copy that, Sir. :: Sunsteaker replied, dodging the other Autobots who were searching for the Decepticon intruder who snuck into their base. 

It was ridiculous that the Bots who stayed behind didn't realize a Decepticon was in their midst. Had they not found the data-slug in their galley, brandishing the Decepticon symbol, none of them would've been the wiser. 

"Yo, Sunstreaker! Wait up!" Jazz called out, running up to catch up with the yellow mech, "This hallway's already gotten the all-clear!" 

"I know, I know," Sunstreaker stated, "But I want to make sure Bob's alright. He's been having a rough heat-cycle and-"

"Hey man, it's cool! I get it," Jazz smiled sympathetically. 

They approached the quarantine room. Sunstreaker punched in the access code on the door panel and promptly stepped inside- 

"...," the Autobot froze in the doorway, speechless. 

"What's up-?" Jazz asked, moving to stand beside Sunstreaker. 

The smell of Bob's love-making hung heavy in the air, but that wasn't the main thing that caught the two Autobots off-guard. 

There, still nestled around Misfire, was Bob: his spike still embedded inside the Decepticon, who was now online, groggy and green around the gills, his abdomen distended and bumpy. 

Jazz left the room, laughing loudly in the hallway, while Sunsteaker stared at his beloved pet Insecticon and his newly acquired mate. 

"Before you say anything," Misfire started, "No, I would not like to talk about it, and yes, I was of sound mind and body when I made this decision." 

"You mean you _wanted_ Bob to lay eggs in you?!" Sunsteaker bristled in disgust, flabbergasted. 

Horror shot across Misfire's face, sobering him up instantly, "Did I want him to do  **_ WHAT  _ ** to me?!"

Sunsteaker covered his face, his servos sliding over his mouth, astounded over how stupid this Decepticon was. Jazz overheard Misfire's exclamation and only laughed harder, while Bob doted on the clutch he laid within the purple flyer. 

**Author's Note:**

> \+ So, this was my first time writing Bob, as well as writing interspecies spiciness. In fact, I've never written anyone else save for Misfire, so hopefully, that explains why some of the characterizations for the other homies might not be on-point. 
> 
> \+ I cannot thank StarlightCaptivator enough for reading over this wild fic for me. They put up with so much, fam ;A; I cannot stress it enough how grateful I am for them. (And if you haven't read their fics, you really should).
> 
> \+ This was supposed to be a fun, little writing exercise to see how one could take two random characters and see how they'd interact with each other & to help with my writer's block. I may do more 'Random Pairing Fic Generator' polls in the future. 
> 
> \+ Thank you all for reading this wild ride of a fic! (& Remember: if you're not a fan of the content, you should've walked away while you had the chance.)


End file.
